Sam ran.

He ran as fast as he could. It was dark, and he wasn't actually sure why he was running but he knew he had to get there. What was in front of him and to the sides was just a blur, but he could hear the rain, thunder, and felt the water touch his skin through his clothes.

Then, finally, something did become clear. Sam stopped just before colliding with a wall. It wasn't just a wall. It was the clinic of his late Uncle Cliff. It was beaten up with bullet holes and the windows were shattered, just like the night the O'Driscolls attacked.

Instinctively, as if reliving the memory, Sam rushed inside, seeing the items and glass on the floor and immediately went up the stairs to the living area.

But he did not see Cliff.

He entered the room, but was now at the bottom of that cellar at Lone Mule Stead. Arthur was passed out on the floor, in that bloody, beat up state he found him in, and standing over him was his recent kill: Seth Laslow. He pointed the gun in Sam's direction and when he flinched his pocket watch fell from his person.

And then there was the sound of thunder.

Sam jolted awake, sitting up immediately in his cot. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't there. He was safely at camp. It was still dark outside for the early morning, but the rain had also come back. The young man was able to hear the water hitting the tent. His shaky hands searched around the bed, and eventually touched the cold metal of his pocket watch. It had been on the desk nearby and he lifted it into his hands, thumbs running over the engraving as he tried to catch his breath. On the other side, his fingers began to press into the dent left by the bullet.

Sam unbuttoned the shirt of his union suit. There was still a bruise on his chest from the impact, but at least it was better than a bullet wound. He laid back down, seeing the dream catcher still hanging down from the roof of his tent and sighed.

"Fucking bullshit…" he grumbled. Though, he couldn't blame Charles. A dreamcatcher wasn't a one hundred percent guarantee.

Then he heard a voice from the next tent over. Arthur's tent.

Heart still pounding, Sam sat back up, swung his feet over the side of the cot, his feet slipping into his boots, before he stood up and ran into the rain, lantern in hand.

The camp was quiet as Sam made his way to Arthur's tent. He parted the flaps, and found him still safely in his cot, but he was whimpering. His head was moving side to side and his legs were trying to kick out.

Sam had seen this before on the first few nights after he brought him back. There was little he could do then while he was trapped in his feverish stupor, but he knew Arthur preferred to be woken up gently. He set the lantern on Arthur's table and walked over to his side.

"Arthur," Sam spoke softly. He didn't want to startle him so he ran his hand through his locks of dirty blond hair, slightly damp with sweat. "Arthur, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

With a flinch, the older outlaw awoke, his eyes staring up at the roof of his tent.

"It's okay, Arthur," said Sam. "You're safe. You're in camp."

Arthur's ribs ached as he tried to catch his breath. They were still sore from the O'Driscolls beating on him and Colm's "revolver whipping." His gaze drifted to the younger man who had come into his view.

"S… Sam…" Arthur managed to say, breathlessly.

"Yeah, it's me."

"I…" Arthur tried to speak, but he sucked in another breath of air.

"Don't talk," said Sam. His hand moved from his hair touching the side of his face, palm feeling the hair on his beard. "Just breathe."

Arthur tried to move his left hand, the one closest to Sam, but then remembered it was restrained by that darn sling. So, he moved the other one, arm and hand touching the air of the cold, rainy night and trembling something fierce, before Sam held it in both of his hands.

"Deep breaths, Arthur," said Sam. "In for six seconds." He watched Arthur suck in air through his mouth. "That's it. Now hold it for six seconds." He smiled to see the older outlaw's cheeks become a bit red from holding the air in. "Now exhale, slowly." And the air came back out through his nose. Sam had him repeat his instructions until Arthur's breathing returned to normal. His hand eventually stopped shaking so much in Sam's grasp.

"Sorry…" Arthur managed to whisper after a while.

Sam pulled a nearby chair over by hooking his foot on one of the legs and sat down.

"It's okay," he said. "I had a bad dream, too."

Finally, Arthur huffed. "Figured, you're shaking like a leaf."

Sam scoffed. At least he was sounding more like himself.

It had been a day since Sam and Arthur admitted their feelings for each other. Both were unsure on how to proceed, but Sam guessed they had time to figure it out, since they were stuck in camp together.

After a few minutes, Sam spoke.

"Feeling better?"

Arthur hesitated, but nodded. "Do you… wanna stay here?"

Sam smiled. Though, he was certain he asked because Arthur was the one who wanted him to stay, but he really didn't want to walk back outside into the storm, either. So, he stood up.

"Sure."

It took some maneuvering, but Sam managed to get himself settled on the cot with Arthur, laying on the side where the ammo wagon was acting as a wall for the tent. Plus it was on Arthur's right side, so he wouldn't accidentally apply pressure or cause pain to his wounded shoulder on his left. It was kind of a tight squeeze, given the fact that it was two grown men on one cot, but Sam just stayed somewhat on his side and settled and arm over his new partner's torso. The warmth of Sam's body calmed Arthur's nerves a little more.

He wasn't there anymore.

He was safe.

Everyone was.

Sam had come for him.

So had John.

Freaking. John.

Arthur sighed at the thought of him. What happened? He left, came back, tried to act like nothing happened, still tried to avoid that boy, and now… he helped save him.

Why was he still mad? Or was he just trying to still be that way? John leaving hurt the gang. It hurt Dutch.

It hurt Arthur.

If John wanted to make things right, this was certainly a step in the right direction.

As much as he tried not to until Arthur did, Sam ended up falling asleep first. His head was on his chest, and his hand was softly resting on Arthur's shoulder wound. It was strange. Despite Sam's smaller frame he felt protected by this gesture. He was so used to him always being the one who was protecting everyone, the big scary enforcer, carrying the weight of the gang's burdens on his shoulders to make the two men who raised him proud.

But he could get used to this.

He sighed and carded his fingers through the sleeping Sam's hair. He closed his eyes, the ache in his shoulder seemed to almost fade away with where Sam's hand was.

The whole thing with Colm was a farce. Dutch should have seen it from the beginning, but he didn't. The whole ride there Arthur had his doubts and even admitted he was nervous.

"Look, you ain't even gonna be the one in danger," Micah had promised.

Micah advised Arthur to take to higher ground with a sniper rifle. And Dutch had good faith that he'd be right, but Sam was so stubborn. Even after the emotional night they had after he returned, Sam was keeping his distance, sticking close to the injured Arthur like a moth to a flame.

He was so focused on protecting the child she left behind that he forgot about his own son.

And he almost paid the price for it.

Sam decided to stay close to camp and look after Arthur. Luckily, the Gray's were willing to hire even more people to help guard Caliga Hall. Dutch told Sam he was free to pick whoever he wanted to take his place for the time being. Sam was usually gone most of the day whenever he had to patrol.

So Sam chose Micah.

Arthur had tried walking around a bit. Sam or someone like Charles or John would be close by to help him in case he needed it, but he wouldn't get far, before retreating back to the safety of his tent.

"God damnit…" Arthur grumbled as he sat down. Sam was by his side with a towel. Arthur graciously took it to wipe the sweat off his face. "I just had to piss, and I'm on my ass again."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Sam said, leaning against the table next to the cot. "Your body spent the past few days fighting off that fever. Your strength will come back soon. That's how it was for me." He handed Arthur his flask and he drank the water from it, greedily. Some of it fell on the ground, but Arthur didn't care. Sam just pushed some dirt over it before sitting down on the cot next to him and leaning on his good shoulder.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't long before Arthur decided to lean his head against Sam's for a bit. He wasn't really the touchy feely type, but it was somehow different with Sam. It wasn't long before the younger man took Arthur's good arm in his grasp, occasionally massaging the muscles there. It was nice.

It wasn't quiet per se. There were still the sounds of people working and talking in the camp. Pearson was whistling away while he chopped veggies and meat for the stew, Sean was chatting away about something near the campfire, and some of the girls were probably gossiping about something. Occasionally, they could hear the chickens and Cain's barking.

Sam's eyes drifted around and he saw that picture of Mary, sitting on some crates behind Arthur's cot. It made him think about her. She was a pretty woman, and from what he heard from herself, Arthur, and from snooping at his letter, they were once in love. He sighed, and tried not to think about her.

He just… hoped he could live up to what Arthur saw in her.

"God, I must stink…" Arthur muttered, holding back a laugh.

"Yeah…" Sam admitted.

Arthur huffed.

"What?" Sam said, stifling a laugh. "You said it. I'm just agreeing with you." He patted his knee. "When you're up to it, we can go into town and get you a nice bath."

"I don't wanna overstep any boundaries," said Arthur. "We both know you ain't no bathmaid-"

"Oh, shut up. I grew up with a doctor for an uncle. I've seen it all." Sam moved his hand and rubbed Arthur's back. "I want to help you, Arthur. In any way I can."

Arthur sighed. He was used to helping others, not receiving it, but it wasn't unwelcome. He was glad Sam couldn't see the heat rising in his face. The outlaw patted Sam's knee and gave it a small squeeze.

"Thank-you."

"Well, look who's finally up and at 'em."

That enthusiastic voice came from the gang leader, himself: Dutch van der Linde. He parted the curtains, and Sam, face suddenly red pulled away from the intimate moment he was sharing with Arthur. Well, he was still holding his arm. He looked at Dutch, his silver eyes looking as if someone sparked a flame in them. His grip on Arthur slightly increased, like he wanted to protect him, still.

Like his own gang leader was a threat.

It hurt.

"Dutch?" Arthur was the first one to speak. Unlike his boss' seemingly optimistic attitude, Arthur's tone was quiet and serious. Dutch could have sworn that he heard them chattering and laughing before he came along, but that changed as soon as he walked in.

Just silence.

Dutch was happy that Sam had found love, and with Arthur, a fine man. He was happy that Arthur found love again.

And yet, it was like he couldn't join in on that happiness.

"Sam, uh… Would you leave us for a second?"

Sam shrugged. "What? I can't stay here?"

Normally, Dutch would've been angered by such disobedience, but instead, he frowned. He took off his hat and stared Sam in the eye.

"Sam… please…"

The younger man seemed taken back by this gesture. He looked at Arthur, and reluctantly let go of his arm. He stood up slowly and walked to the entrance.

"I'll see if Pearson has lunch ready," Sam spoke softly, before leaving them alone.

Arthur was still healing. His face still had bruises, along with the rest of his body. He had seen Arthur rubbing his torso, ribs still sore from Colm's treatment, and Sam and Lily were probably among the only people who could stomach looking at that shoulder wound underneath those bandages. Just knowing that he was shot in such a way, made Dutch wish he could just leave, find Colm, and make him suffer the same way Arthur did.

But if everything went right, that son of a bitch would be dead soon, and by the son of the woman he killed.

"So, how are you feeling?" said Dutch.

Arthur could only shrug with one of his shoulders. The other caused him pain, which made him put his free hand over it for a moment, before reaching for his journal.

"Never better…" he grunted.

"I…" Dutch had already said it a lot at his bedside, but he wasn't sure if Arthur heard him. He just had to say it again. "I'm sorry, son. Dutch pulled some stray hair he had back behind his ear. "I feel like such a fool."

"I knew what I was riding into," Arthur said, opening his journal. He hadn't written in it since he got back, and he probably would've lost it forever if Charles hadn't found his satchel at Lone Mule Stead. When he was back on his feet, he would find a way to thank him.

"You only went, because I asked you," said Dutch.

"Of course." Arthur found it in himself to look at Dutch. His voice was incredibly quiet. It wasn't weak, but… flat. Distant. It was different from the way he heard him talking to Sam. "So?"

"'So'? Arthur, Colm was playing all of us! I didn't believe Hosea, and Sam was practically begging for us not to do this and to find another way, and all I could do was threaten to shoot him."

"Rose was in danger," said Arthur. "Was there really another way?"

"I…" Dutch trailed off. "I'm… I'm sorry, Arthur. I can't tell you enough."

The blonde sighed. His gaze drifted back to his journal, eyes falling on some week old sketches. "Then… what happened?"

"It was weird…" said Dutch. "They handed Rose to us and we waited for them to jump us, but… nothing happened."

"I was getting the guest treatment from Colm."

"I know. I'm sorry. If Sam hadn't done anything, we could've… I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can say." Dutch stepped closer to his boy, placing a hand on his unwounded shoulder. "I don't know how, but I will make this right. I promise you."

Arthur just wriggled Dutch's hand away. He wasn't much of a touchy feely type of man, even if just seconds ago, Sam was clinging to him like a leech, and he was just letting it happen. Arthur kept his gaze on his journal, flipping through pages.

"Whatever you say, Dutch." It sounded like Arthur didn't believe him. Or, he didn't care. This wasn't something he was clearly angry about, and it wasn't something he could retaliate against. Arthur wasn't angry. He was just hurt.

"That's pretty, Dutch," the gang leader remembered Arthur saying. "That's real pretty…" Even in the throes of pain, fever, and delirium, Arthur's feelings were made clear.

"Arthur…"

Still, Arthur didn't look up at him again. "Sam will be back soon. It gets cramped in here."

Dutch sighed in defeat. There it was. The small shred of rage that managed to bubble out, but just as quick as it did, it was once again gone, leaving only the injured man that was more hurt than mad. He left him be, and exited the tent.

"Dutch!" Lenny walked up to him, repeater in his hands. "We've got a problem."

Dutch looked at the young outlaw. "What is it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say a problem? Just… a visitor?" said a voice.

It was none other than Brandon Marrows. He was being escorted into the camp, gloved hands in the air with Bill Williamson behind him, rifle at the ready. Kieran followed shyly behind him leading Brandon's white horse.

Dutch had no idea what the hell was going on anymore. He had a sneaking suspicion that Brandon already knew where the camp was, but what was he doing here?

"What do you want?" said Dutch.

"I'm here for Rose," said Brandon. "How could you know she got kidnapped and not tell me?"

Dutch could only glare. "They weren't after her… per se. They were after one of my own."

Rose made her way through the onlookers. Her clothes were all clean and she was wearing them again. Lily was happy to braid her orange hair to the side again, just as she liked it. Her brown eyes locked onto the blue ones of her long time friend and she raced out towards him.

"Rose?"

Rose could only smile. It was probably the first genuine smile the gang saw that wasn't a snarky smirk. She ran towards him, practically jumping into his arms. Brandon nearly fell over from Rose's impact, but managed to hold himself up, hugging her. Hearing Dutch's words made Brandon's blood boil, however. Rose was only being used as bait…

Alas, she was safe, and at the moment, he wasn't really in a position to get mad right now.

"I just… want to bring her home," Brandon said, as Rose finally pulled away. He patted her shoulder, as he saw her wiping away tears.

Dutch nodded. "Very well, but I need to speak to you first. This way…" He gestured towards his tent.

Brandon looked around, seeing himself surrounded by the armed men who escorted him in. He rolled his eyes after seeing Kieran, an ex-O'Driscoll, for crying out loud.

"Okay…" Brandon finally responded. "I want to speak to Sam, as well." He looked over to Rose. "It'll be fine. We're just gonna talk." Rose could only huff in response, which made Brandon chuckle. "Heh… Right…"

The blonde and the red head followed Dutch into his tent. It didn't take long for word to reach Sam, and he reported there, as well, opting to stand just outside of the tent, so everyone could have some space. The two outsiders stayed standing, while Dutch sat down on his cot.

"Sam, first off, I want to say, thank-you for looking after Rose through this whole mess," said Brandon.

Sam was leaning against one of the tent posts at the entrance. "Well, I wouldn't say I did much. I told them, and they rescued her."

Rose pointed outside, towards Lily, who had just helped with the laundry and stood up to go and take up some of Arthur's chores.

Brandon nodded. "I see."

"So, why did you need me?" said Sam.

"Are you any closer to finding Colm O'Driscoll?"

"I had an opportunity," said Sam. "If the information was correct, he would've returned from town to Lone Mule's Stead." He gulped, his hands forming fists. "But, he was gonna hand Arthur over to the law, and he was injured pretty badly. I had to prioritize his safety over what I wanted but what I wanted turned into wanting Arthur to be safe."

Dutch could barely hide the smile he had. He was so proud that Sam chose love over vengeance.

"I wasn't alone," Sam added. "John helped me."

"John Marston," Brandon said with a nod. "Alright. I understand. My associates can't get anywhere near the scene right now, but they say they found the body of Seth Laslow there."

"Yes, that was me. He only spouted some nonsense before I killed him."

"What did he say?"

"He said that the map that was drawn in preparation to attack and kill my uncle wasn't done by Colm or any of his men. I think he meant to say that he got it from an outside source."

The blonde raised a brow. Dutch snapped his head around in Sam's direction with a similar expression.

"Are you saying that your uncle's killer might not be an O'Driscoll?" said Dutch.

"No!" Sam immediately responded, his voice almost a shout. "It's… I don't know…" He shook his head, the thoughts in his mind suddenly swirling as they raced around. The men he killed, the things he saw, the poison he sowed…

It can't all have been for nothing… right?

"Who else… who else would've wanted my uncle dead?" Sam said, his words starting to shake.

I think the question we should be asking is why," said Dutch. "Why did they want him dead?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know." He took deep breaths, remembering his own instructions, but his hands were starting to tremble. Quickly, forcing his hands to his sides, he reached deep into his own memory. He remembered that night, the broken glass on the floor, the items scattered about, the hit to his head, the man, the gunshot, and then… his uncle… "Why?"

Then, something surfaced. The back room. It was where Cliff handled the finances. He never wanted him or Lily to worry about the money troubles, but Sam knew they were in the red. They were never allowed in there, but… he knew now that it wasn't about the money.

It was tacked to the walls, it was on the desks. Hell, before it all went down, Cliff was writing to…

"Dutch…?" Sam said, his voice soft.

"What is it?" said the gang leader.

"No, Dutch!" Sam raised his voice. "Whoever killed my uncle was after Dutch! He had all that stuff about the gang, and he was even fixing to send him a letter."

"Lots of people want me dead," said Dutch. "I've been a wanted man for thirteen years."

"Then, we're back at square one," said Brandon. "O'Driscolls attacked the town of Valentine, and they were the only ones who could have broken into that clinic and went for your uncle."

Sam nodded, but was still confused. He was looking forward, but not to Brandon or Rose. He was lost.

"That should be right," Brandon concluded..

"I know, just…" Sam scratched the hair under his hat. "It sounds straightforward, like before. Colm could be the only one who knows who pulled the trigger. Plus, he wants Dutch dead as much as it is the other way around, but… something just feels off."

"That Laslow brother probably said all that nonsense to confuse you, dear boy," said Dutch. "No one is that loyal to Colm. All he cares about-"

"...is numbers," Sam finished for him. "Yeah… I need to go think. We'll be in touch, Brandon." With that, he tipped his hat. "Rose." The redhead nodded and Sam walked away, warily.

From an outside source? Sam thought. He didn't know where his feet were taking him, but it didn't matter at the moment. Dutch could be right. Seth might have said all of that just to mess with him, but he wasn't sure anymore. When he was in the moment, he didn't believe any of it, because he was more concerned about Arthur.

"Will it really give you the satisfaction you're looking for? I can't say I ever saw it that way…"

Was all that crap Arthur was giving him true? He knew there was some merit to it. Sam didn't want to prove him wrong, necessarily. He knew what he was doing was technically wrong, but he didn't care. Sam couldn't stand by and just let whoever did this get away. What good did the law do? If anything, all it was looking to do was crush any naysayers and call it "civilized."

Sam's feet stopped when he saw himself at the edge of Flat Iron Lake, not too far from the village of tents that was the camp. He rubbed his eyes and temples.

If an O'Driscoll didn't kill Cliff Hawkeson, then who did? There couldn't be any other candidate. They were everywhere that night, and Lily and other survivors of that attack could attest to it. Many people wanted Dutch dead or at least behind bars. The top two were the O'Driscolls and the Pinkertons. Arthur told him of a man who offered his freedom in exchange for turning his own gang leader in.

Was the perpetrator even after Dutch? He remembered the attacker speaking about how Cliff hid a woman. Was it his mother? Did… Did he know where Dutch and his gang were at the time and never said anything?

And the law? They were more focused on protecting that bank, than other people. Maybe people ran into the bank, given its security? Sam didn't know… and he didn't care.

God, he needed a distraction…

"Well, is there anything else you wish to discuss Mr. van der Linde?" said Brandon. He, Rose and Dutch were still in the tent.

Dutch leaned forward. "What do you want from us?"

"What do you mean?" said Brandon.

"How could someone like you know about us… about me… and not try to cash in?" said Dutch.

Brandon sighed through his nose. He placed his hands on his hips. "I already told you: I owe a favor to one of your gang members. It'd be a pity if I betrayed him like that. Besides, you fine folks saved Rose. I have even less reason to even try to stab you in the back. You even said you've been on the run for thirteen years. There's bound to be a reason for that."

Dutch nodded and lit up a cigar. "True…"

"I get it, though. You don't like the idea of someone knowing information about everyone who is technically associated with you."

"Then why do you do it?" said Dutch.

"I'm an outlaw, like you Mr. van der Linde." The blonde said, tilting his head slightly. "I, like many of you, want the same thing: To survive. The law failed me, so I had no other choice. Something or someone failed you and that's why you turned to crime, isn't that right?"

"No," said Dutch. "Apparently, living free is against the law… in this land that's supposed to be free."

"So, this country failed you?"

"Isn't that why you also became an outlaw?"

Brandon raised a brow. "How so?"

Finally, Dutch had it. He searched through his things and got out that damn photo. "Does this look familiar?"

Brandon leaned in close. Dutch was ready to snatch it back in case he tried to take it. But he just kept staring. Rose looked over, as well, almost biting her lower lipstick covered lip.

"Yes, that seems to be a police officer from Blackwater in West Elizabeth. I can tell by the uniform." He stood back up straight. "What's the significance?"

"This isn't you?"

Brandon smirked. And then chuckled, which then descended into a laugh. Dutch could only stare in wonderment. He stood up, taking a deep inhale of his cigar and then blew the smoke right at the blonde. He backed away, swiping at the air.

"Hey, what the hell?"

"I don't much appreciate being insulted in my own camp!" said Dutch.

"Look…" Brandon said, as he tried to reel himself in. It took a few deep breaths and some coughing from the smoke. "That's not me. The man in that photo has been dead for two years."

Dutch looked at the photo again. "What are you talking about?"

"So… I'm assuming Mr. Trelawny gave you that?"

"I-"

"Yeah, I saw him snooping through some of my files and he grabbed a photo, and I let him. I knew he was working for you in a way."

Dutch just glared as Brandon continued.

"That man is Brian McCabes, former Sergeant Officer of the Blackwater Police Department." The blonde looked to the floor and shook his head. "Tragic. Real tragic. He was framed for the murder of Phillip LeClerk. You might have heard of him. He was business partners with someone who apparently betrayed him and had him killed, and they pinned the murder on him. Brian was sentenced to death, but he escaped custody. However, seeing as his life had crumbled before him, he went to his old home and blew himself up. There's photos I have from the police records, if you'd like to see them. Shame the facts didn't come to light until after the poor bastard's death."

Dutch sighed, but it sounded more like a growl. If he wasn't that man, then who was he?

"Then, who are you?" said Dutch.

"An outlaw," said Brandon. "What's the big deal?"

"I don't appreciate you toying with me," said Dutch. "Making me look like a goddamn fool like everything in the world is under your control."

"Then why act like it's under yours?" said Brandon. Even as Dutch stepped forward towards him, he stood his ground. "I'm here, trying to appreciate what you've done for me and Rose, but you keep treating me like this is some kind of interrogation. You and I want the same thing: Freedom. Survival. Justice. Why can't we just work together?"

Dutch took another inhale of his cigar. "Because I don't trust you," he said, as the smoke poured from his lips.

"But you'll trust a loudmouth like Micah?"

"He saved me, and he's more useful than you know!"

Brandon scoffed. "Of course, you're right. Because everything has gone right under your command and no one else's."

"It's how we've survived."

Brandon had it. He just wanted to help. With a gloved hand, he raised his arm and gestured to Arthur's tent, staring at Dutch with a straight face.

"And look where that got you."

Dutch immediately lunged forward towards Brandon, dropping his cigar to the floor, but before he could even lay a hand on the younger man, Rose stepped between them, her slender yet strong hands, able to break them apart. Without even thinking, she stood in front of her boss, her arms spread out, ready to take any hit for him. Her foot stepped out to put out the cigar before it set the floor on fire. Despite the glare on her face, her teeth showing like a wolf would their fangs, her chestnut brown eyes pleaded. She was an outlaw just like him and Brandon and everyone else in this camp. Yet she was standing there…

Noble. Brave.

Dutch backed off. Rose lowered her arms. Like usual, she didn't say a word, but there was no need. They looked at each other and they both knew why Dutch almost attacked Brandon.

Because he was right.

"Get the hell out of here…" Dutch said, his voice low. "Go on. Get."

Rose grabbed the hand of her irate boss and started pulling him towards the entrance. Just before they exited, Brandon yanked his hand back and stopped. He didn't turn to look at Dutch but still had something to say.

"John Marston," he simply stated.

Dutch looked at the blonde one more time.

"He saved me, just as Micah apparently saved you," said Brandon. "So I guess we both owe someone a debt." And with that, they stepped out of the tent towards his horse.

Lily had gathered some medicine for Arthur. She left her tent, and just as she saw Rose walking off with Brandon, the two girls made eye contact. She ran up to her, and shoved a sealed envelope into her hands before meeting Brandon by his horse.

Dutch closed up the tent flaps and sat down. He ran his hands through his dark locks of hair and stayed with his head low. He thought about Blackwater, Jenny, Mac and Davey, and the whole mess in Valentine. He was losing his grip on the people he loved. They died, or they were hurt. He threw himself at Brandon because he was right.

He wasn't in control.

They were very young when they first met. Unlike him, Dutch's true love was orphaned at a young age, but she never seemed unhappy.

Dutch had his mother, but he ran away when he was fifteen. She loved him in her own way and so did he, but they never always saw eye to eye.

He still remembered the late nights he stayed up with Annabelle, talking about the future. They couldn't always stay together, leading the life they did, but it wasn't long before Hosea and Bessie joined them.

They were eighteen when Annabelle disappeared for an entire year. There was a heist that made them separate and they had to lie low.

Days passed. Then it turned to weeks. Then months.

Something deep down told him that something was wrong. He didn't know what to do. He searched everywhere in the area after the heat died down. Hosea and Bessie searched everywhere, too. Annabelle wouldn't just abandon him, right?

Dutch had to force himself to stay strong. He kept moving forward. Hosea and Bessie stayed strong as well.

Then a year had passed. It was on the same day that they separated, she was back again. Annabelle had a lot to say to Dutch, telling him where she had been and what she had been up to. She was tired and seemed a bit distant, but Dutch assumed she was overwhelmed, thinking the same thing he had been: That they would never see each other again.

He had been as foolish then as he had been now. She had lied right to his face.

Still, he loved her. At their last moments together, she got his injured self on that horse, and made it ride away, but even so, it still felt like she was leaving him once again.

As the O'Driscolls drew close. Annabelle turned to him one last time, before facing her destiny, guns blazing…

And smiled.

Even with that lie, even if she took away his choice of what to do with their child, even if he didn't know why she felt like she needed to lie to him, he knew… all that time… even in her final hour, he knew…

She loved him.

"Arthur!"

It was the middle of the night when Dutch's eyes snapped open. His mind was taken away from the dreams and memories that swirled around him.

Dutch was alone in his tent. Molly was with the girls, too upset to sleep next to him.

Still, he heard voices from Arthur's tent. Arthur was groaning, almost yelping.

Dutch slipped into his boots and ran out into the night. There was no rain or thunder, just a gentle wind.

By the time he made it to Arthur's tent, he found Sam and Hosea by Arthur's bedside. Sam was helping him sit up while Hosea brought him some tea. Dutch walked in slowly, seeing his adoptive son holding his sore ribs with what little movement he could afford with his injured hand, and he was still catching his breath. He had another nightmare.

"Everything okay?" said Dutch.

"Just a rough night for poor Arthur, here," said Hosea.

Sam locked eyes with Dutch, but otherwise didn't say anything. He turned back to Arthur and was instructing him to follow his breathing.

Dutch sighed. Arthur was perfectly fine without him.

"Don't say it like that," Arthur grumbled. "Sorry, Dutch." The gang leader was surprised to hear that he even addressed him. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"Hush up, son," Dutch immediately interjected. "This ain't your fault."

"You'll be fine," said Sam. "You're just sore and tired."

Arthur nodded, too exhausted to say much else. After he finished the tea Hosea had offered him Sam helped him lay back down. He reached over to the nearby lamp.

"C-Can we keep the light on?" Arthur then asked. Sam paused and lowered his hand. "Just… I ain't ready to sleep yet."

Sam nodded. "Of course."

Hosea glanced over at Dutch, seeing the sorrowful look on his face, and then turned to Sam, who was helping Arthur relax some more by rubbing his hair. It was kind of odd, seeing Arthur, of all people, in such a state. Even when he's scared, he tries to be all sarcastic, but not now.

After a few minutes, Arthur's eyes started to droop shut. He couldn't tell if it was the tea, the blankets on him, or Sam's little touches, simply Hosea, holding his hand, but he was starting to feel a bit better.

"Hey, Sam," said Hosea. "How about you go back to bed? Dutch and I can handle things from here."

"Are you sure?"

"Just let the old guard take over tonight," the old man said with a smile. "You've done a lot and you deserve a little more rest."

Sam glanced over at Arthur's sleepy form. His eyes had already gone completely shut. "Are you okay with that, Arthur?"

Arthur mumbled something, but it was incoherent.

"We'll be okay," said Hosea.

The young man hesitantly nodded. He brushed Arthur's temple with his hand before turning to leave.

He didn't look at Dutch at all as he left.

Dutch took a seat next to Hosea in the spare chair. The old man could see Dutch fidgeting a bit with his hands. Like, maybe he thought he shouldn't be in here. Slowly, he passed Arthur's free hand to him, and Dutch took it. His son's hand was warm, but not feverishly so, like on those first few nights.

Arthur seemed to know it was him. He felt the rings on those calloused hands.

"Dutch…?" Arthur barely whispered.

"It's okay, son," the gang leader responded. "We're here."

Arthur didn't reply, but he didn't pull his hand away. In fact, he tightened his grip slightly, and when it loosened, Dutch and Hosea could see his face going slack and heard his breath deepen.

"Looks like he's finally out," Hosea whispered, not wanting to wake him.

Dutch nodded, but he decided to stay a while longer and just watch him, to know he was safe. He couldn't change what happened. He wasn't sure if he could dictate what would happen next, but the answer had to be in that gold. That's what he believed. The here and now.

They would be okay.

Sam didn't have a nightmare that night. He found himself sitting in a field, the sun shining down, making almost everything he saw gleam a golden color. He saw deers and stags. And when looked up, he saw an eagle soaring overhead, before the light grew so bright he awoke from his dream.

The sun was rising by the time Sam got dressed. He walked out of his tent and briefly checked on Arthur to see that he was still asleep. With a smile, he let him be and kept walking.

Dutch found Sam sitting at the shores of Flat Iron Lake. He was drawing in that journal of his. The sun was still rising, reflecting on the surface of the waters. He could make out the shapes of fish just below.

Sam heard Dutch's footsteps, and turned around to see it was just him. He turned back to his drawings.

"Hello, Sam," he said.

Sam didn't look back. "Dutch," he responded, plainly.

"What are you working on there?"

"It's a layout of Caliga Hall." Dutch walked up and crouched down next to him to see what was on the page. "Being a guard there gave me an inside look at the place, but Bill and Micah wanted details, so I'm drawing this layout for them. If that 'Death Adder Spits' nonsense didn't work, then we'll just have to look for that gold the old fashioned way."

Dutch saw Sam's pocket watch sitting at the bottom of the page, before the younger man picked it up and closed the book. He stood up and Dutch did, as well.

"I should get Arthur break-"

Just as Sam tucked away his pocket watch, turned around and was about to walk away, Dutch stopped him with a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Are you angry with me?"

"Dutch-"

"You're not going anywhere, until we discuss this."

Sam tried yanking his arm away, but to no avail.

"Yes… Well, no… Well…" Sam grabbed the hand of his gang leader, slowly pulling it away from his shoulder. "Only because Arthur isn't. I feel like I have to."

Dutch looked appalled. Sam could barely looked at him and kicked the nearby dirt.

"He's too forgiving for his own good…" the young man mumbled. "Maybe that's my problem."

Dutch sighed. "I… I screwed up, Sam. I know I did. But what matters is that Arthur is here, now."

"'What have we got to lose by finding out?'" Sam mocked, trying to match Micah's stupid voice.

"He's safe, because of you."

"He got hurt because of me. I know Rose was in danger, but…"

"Sam, I couldn't let you risk yourself like that."

"Why not?!" Sam practically shouted. "He almost died because of it!"

"I was…" Dutch paused. "I was so concerned over you that I forgot about protecting him. Protecting everyone. I knew it could be a trap, but I was too dumb to see what the trap was, until Arthur didn't return."

Sam shrugged. "Why me?" He turned back to the lake. "I'm just some idiot who stole from you and saved Arthur with a lucky shot. I'm taking care of the O'Driscoll problem, and I have others who are helping me. You shouldn't be concerned."

"I am gonna be concerned!" Dutch said, sternly. He stepped a bit closer to him, pointing at the boy. "I always will be! It's my job!"

Sam flinched seeing his speech escalate to yelling. It occurred to Dutch that no matter what he said, Sam wouldn't know why. Unless…

"Do you… know what Colm did to me…?" Dutch said, lowering his voice.

Sam vaguely remembered. He heard bits and pieces, but recalled what he said on that fateful day.

"He killed… a woman you loved dear," Sam recalled Dutch's words. "Why?"

"My job is worrying about the gang. I'm in charge of it, after all." He walked past Sam, inching closer to the waters. "I loved… her. There were others, but… they couldn't… It just wasn't… it."

"What does this have to do with me?" said Sam.

"You said, your mother never talked about your father that much. That this man she spoke of left had that watch."

Sam nodded. He stayed silent.

"Well…" Dutch turned back to him. He shrugged. "I believe… I was that man…"

Sam froze in place. His jaw dropped. "No, there's no way you-"

Dutch started walking towards the boy. "Raven black hair, silver eyes. She was sweet, charismatic, and… brave… but above all else. She… 'never left love aside.'"

Sam held his hand over his heart, where his pocket watch still was. Even through the fabric of his duster his fingers still touched the engraving. He took a step back as Dutch got closer, and he stopped his approach.

"Y… You… You're…" The young man was struggling to find his voice. Every time he tried, his lips quivered too much.

"And that's why I couldn't lose you, too…" said Dutch. "And… I am… so sorry, Sam. None of this was your fault. It's mine." He looked at the stunned Sam and smiled. "I guess I have a lot to thank your uncle for, that's for sure."

Sam trembled, but he didn't move as Dutch approached him. He placed his hands on his shoulders. Only then, was he able to settle down enough to actually speak. He was still staring at the ground, even as Dutch was looking at him.

"You're… You're my… You're my father…?"

Dutch could only nod. Sam was breathing heavily, his heart pumping so fast, he thought it would jump up and out of his mouth. He just confessed his feelings to someone and now someone else was dropping this on him.

He nodded feverishly. "I… I see. Why… But… Arthur's…"

"I know," said Dutch. "And, I'm sorry. But, know when I say that you and Arthur mean so much to me. I'm gonna make this right, I promise."

Finally, Sam looked up at him, and like the night he told Dutch about his feelings for Arthur, there were tears in his eyes once again. Dutch chuckled and thumbed them away.

"You'll never be alone again, my boy. I promise you." He pulled Sam into his arms, and Sam hugged him back. It still didn't seem real, but that only made Sam hug tighter, because now he had even more reasons to stay, including the things he had been through the past few months with these misfits. The favor he owed to Dutch no longer mattered to him. It hadn't for a while. He had to help lead these people to safety. Even if by some slim chance his target wasn't an O'Driscoll, he now had more reason to take them down. Sam could finally do something he never thought he could: Find his mother's killer… He could kill two birds with one stone.

At least, that was what he thought…

A/N: I'm lowkey starting to realize that Sam probably has some survivor's guilt and low self-esteem.